The War Without an End
by malfoywillnotdie
Summary: Nearly a year after the Final Battle of Hogwarts and Hermione Granger is hounding the Wizengamot to free Draco Malfoy from Azkaban. Narcissa Malfoy and Molly Weasley are butting heads. "Granger, why is your arm wrapped?" "I do believe your dead auntie Bellatrix could answer that one, Malfoy." "Why is it bleeding?" "Because it never bloody healed, obviously! It's a curse, you dalt!"
1. Chapter 1

**The War Without an End. **

**Chapter One.**

**Warning: Rated M for adult language and implied sexual terms.**

**Discliamer: I am not J.K. Rowling, nor am I claiming to be. I am not making a profit from writing this story. **

* * *

**J****une 2, 1998. Tuesday. **

**12:33 P.M.**

**Ministry Of Magic, Level Two, Wizengamot.**

Five well-manicured nails repetitively came down onto a hard wooden desk, satisfying the impatience the their owner, Narcissa Malfoy. The Wizengamot had been muttering amongst themselves for twenty minutes, battling out the decision of whether or not she would walk out of this building a free woman or a shackled one. As it were, her dainty wrists were weighed down by the heavy, magic sapping manacles.

Narcissa was greatly surprised by the number of witches and wizards who came to her defense. Harry Potter and his two best friends made an appearance- them of all people. Her banished sister was there, along with quite a few of the Weasley clan. All of them made fierce points as to why she should not go to Azkaban. All of them were exaggerated, blown out of proportion to make her look like some hero of sorts. Not that she minded. She appreciated it, of course, but she couldn't understand why they were doing it.

The bang of a gavel on wood caught her attention, as everyone else's in the room. Someone, Narcissa didn't see who, patted her shoulder consolingly and she found herself exhaling. Whatever happened, she would take it with grace. She didn't marry a Malfoy because she was weak, mind you.

"Has the Wizengamot come to a conclusion?" The Minister demanded in his loud, accented voice.

"No, Minister," one of the older members said wearily, pinching the bridge of his nose, "it seems we can not come to an equal decision."

Kinsley seemed to deflate at that. He took his time in looking them all over. "We've wasted enough time here today," he began, and Narcissa couldn't help but be offended. "All in favor of dropping all charges." Out of the fifty-one members, thirty-nine raised their hands. "All opposed?" Twelve rose their hands, already knowing they'd lost.

"Narcissa Malfoy is cleared of all charges, but I insist on twenty-four months of house arrest until complete freedom- and with it, trust- is granted." Another smack of the gavel. "Dismissed."

It was obvious that Minister Shacklebolt did not want Narcissa Malfoy out of Azkaban, but he had to be fair, and the vote was fair.

Narcissa allowed a small smile as she thanked everyone who had defended her. Harry Potter shook her hand and wished her luck. Hermione Granger did the same, but was watching her without blinking, which unnerved her, though she would never admit it. The others simply nodded their acceptance. But her sister, Andromeda, engulfed her in a teary-hug.

No words were exchanged until Andromeda pulled away and said, "so when am I coming over for tea?"

* * *

**December 24, 1998. Thursday. **

**6:47 P.M.**

**Malfoy Manor.**

Narcissa swung open her grand front door and engulfed the trio on the porch in a warm, desperate hug.

Andromeda Tonks had re-connected with her lost sister after the trial, and they were both so thankful to have each other. Whenever Andromeda came over, she always brought Teddy and Hermione Granger along. At first, Narcissa had been wary of Hermione, but had warmed up to her after they found a common love for reading.

"Mind letting us through before you attack us, Cissy? It's rather chilly out here." Andromeda's muffled sarcastic voice was met by a girly giggle from her sister.

"Come in, come in. I've missed you three, especially baby Teddy." Narcissa was definitively happier than she had been since the name Voldemort ever graced her mind. It showed in her charmingly bubbly personality and softer face. The two woman on the porch walked through the door, cradling a nine month old little boy with hair reflecting the snow.

"Happy Christmas, Hermione, Andromeda. I've made a plethora of cookies, pies, and other goods for tonight, and you can all open your presents early!" Narcissa babbled as she bustled about taking their coats and helping Teddy take off his knitted hat, scarf and gloves.

"Are these monstrosities from Molly?" She asked, waving the offending articles of winter-wear at the two women. Hermione nodded with a sheepish smile. "Ooooh," Narcissa howled, hanging them up to dry, "by Merlin, that woman will be the death of me."

"Oh, come off it Cissy. She's been knitting for years and won't stop just because you have started." Andromeda rolled her eyes.

Lately, Molly Weasley and Narcissa have been having mum-off's, a sort of competition between them, mothering anyone who dare show up at their house. Surprisingly, Narcissa was putting up a good fight. Her knitting was just as mushily atrocious as Molly's and her meals were just as delicious.

"Blast that old geezer and her tricks. Dolling up little Teddy in her cheap wool." The Malfoy matriarch muttered, leading her guests into the comfortable and warm dining area. Teddy looked snug in his -Narcissa-knit- green sweater.

Hermione couldn't withhold her loud laughter at the muttering blonde woman. It was endearing how determined each mother was to coddle Teddy into submission. Narcissa shot her a look, but it only caused Hermione's laugh grow louder.

"Would you like some wine, Andromeda?" Narcissa asked her sister, deliberately ignoring the amused witch.

"Of course, Cissy." She replied, trying to cover her own smile of amusement. Narcissa could be so immature at times.

Hermione, recovering from her giggles, stood and followed Narcissa into the kitchen. She had some very important matters to discuss with her.

"Narcissa," Hermione began, leaning against the counter and watching the woman try to remember where the wine was; she was still adjusting to not having house elves. "You received my letter?"

The white-blonde woman nodded while checking the refrigerator for the third time.

"It's about your son…Draco." Hermione was never one to beat around the bush, and as Narcissa's grey-blue eyes narrowed onto hers, she wondered if her blunt traits would be the reason she would die. But Narcissa's gaze softened as fast as it had turned vicious, and she raised a neat brow.

"Yes, what about my son, Hermione?" Narcissa wasn't making it easy for Hermione, nor was she giving any of her thoughts away. She found the wine in a cupboard above the triple basin sink.

Hermione exhaled and decided that if blunt was the death of her, so be it. "I've picked up his case recently. I don't know much about it, really, and I was hoping you could help me understand his allegiance with Voldemort and possibly any information you have that will make working with him, and defending him, easier." Hermione saw that her sisterly-figure was shocked, and decided not to give her long to think. "I know he took the dark mark, but I want to know why. You have implied before that he didn't take it willingly?"

Narcissa still looked dazed, but seemed to come back to reality and popped the cork on the wine with a strong twist. She poured the alcohol into three glasses. "No," she shook her head, "no, he took that mark against his and my own will."

"Right, and he attempted to remove it after the war ended, before he was imprisoned?" Narcissa placed the whine bottle down firmly.

"When I entered his bedroom he was slicing at it with a dagger, so I suppose you could say he tried to remove it." Her voice was full of venom, but it wasn't aimed at Hermione. Rather, it was aimed at the so called "Dark Lord" for even creating such a mark.

Hermione winced, and exhaled. "I'm sorry, Narcissa. We've got to talk about this if I'm to help him."

"That's perfectly alright dear." Narcissa whispered. "Help me take these wine glasses out into the dining room; we'll talk out there." Hermione did just that, and handed Andromeda a glass while taking a sip of her own.

"Where should we start?" Hermione asked. Best to just let the blonde take over and tell her what she could.

The blue-eyed woman pursed her lips and thought for a short while. She opened her mouth, then closed it, then opened it again, "Draco was never important to the Dark Lord. He only served as a water boy of sorts. It disgusted me- my son, a wealthy Malfoy, being treated like a slave." She snorted, no one said anything about it being immensely un-lady-like as she continued. "The summer before Draco's sixth year, the Dark Lord called for Lucius and I. He told us he would be assigning him a mission, though he didn't tell us what for at the time, and that if he failed, all three of us would die. Draco was to take the mark, or I would have been killed. I begged him not to take it, you know. He wouldn't listen. But I know he didn't want it."

Narcissa's voice broke on the last word, and Andromeda grabbed her hand comfortingly. She seemed to find consolation in that.

Hermione was reeling. All along, she'd known he had no choice in it, but she never actually knew what the stakes were. She thought it might have been his own life, not his parents'.

"There was only one thing I could do at that point. I couldn't get involved, so I needed someone who could. I approached Severus Snape, you know him, I presume?" Hermione ignored the tightening in her throat at his name; it was still touchy. She'd never gotten used to the idea that Snape was actually so good. Hermione nodded.

"Yes, well, I approached him. I made an Unbreakable Vow with him. He swore that he would help my Draco in any way that he could while on his mission. In the end, my decision was a good one because if Snape hadn't killed Dumbledore, Draco wouldn't have. He would have died that very night, and I am eternally thankful he didn't. I suspect Draco didn't want to, no matter what brutish things he's said about that old man, he never wanted to kill him." Narcissa exhaled. "I'm glad he didn't. To this day he has never killed anyone. He doesn't deserve that cell."

Hermione nodded, "I know." The bushy-haired girl reached across the table and patted Narcissa's other hand -the one Andromeda wasn't clutching. "I know."

Before the battle, when we were gathering to leave for Hogwarts, he begged his father and I to run away with him, and flee the country. So we could be safe. But we couldn't be sure that was the safest thing to do. We didn't know if the Dark Lord would win. If he did, we would be tracked down and murdered. So we stayed and Draco did as he was told. But at the stand-off, when everyone thought Potter was dead -besides me, of course, and maybe that oaf that was carrying him- he was going to stay on your side. The Dark Lord knew he was there though, and your father called him out before things got nasty. In the end, we left before he realized we did." Narcissa took a large sip of her wine as she finished.

Hermione did the same. She had all the right information- Draco Malfoy really had nothing against him. It was forced upon him.

Hermione gave Narcissa the biggest smile she could muster. "Your son is an innocent man and I will get him out of that grimy cell if I have to do it with my bare hands." She hoped it would be that easy.


	2. Chapter 2

**The War Without an End.**

**Chapter Two.**

**Warning: Rated M for adult language and sexual implications. **

******Discliamer: I am not J.K. Rowling, nor am I claiming to be. I am not making a profit from writing this story. **

* * *

**January 29, 1999. Friday. **

**4:58 P.M. **

**Ministry Of Magic, Level Two, Department of Magical Law Enforcement. **

Hermione Granger sat patiently at a large mahogany desk, waiting for the Auror that was assigned to speaking with her. His name was Blaise Zabini, or so the plaque read. She was here with the task of setting up a trial for the youngest imprisoned Malfoy. Little over a month ago she had spoken to Narcissa Malfoy and smoothed over the details of his time with Voldemort. As long as Malfoy kept his mouth shut, he might have a shot yet.

The door opened with a click and closed in the same manner, quiet. Hermione swiveled in her seat to eye the man strutting crisply around the desk. Blaise Zabini, now that name sure sounded familiar. Hermione frowned in thought. "Hello Ms. Granger, and how are you this evening?"

Hermione would have answered politely, but there was something in his too-suave tone and cunning smirk that stopped her. "Blaise Zabini? Slytherin? Auror?" Hermione couldn't believe this! She felt…scandalized. Here she was fighting for a Slytherin's freedom while another signed the papers.

"I've got a bit of a fly problem, Ms. Granger, you might want to close your mouth lest you catch a one." Zabini's smirk had grown, if anything, at her loud expressions of shock. Hermione blushed lightly in embarrassment.

"I- um. I apologize for the outburst, Zabini." Hermione didn't lose eye contact, and therefore witnessed the amusement that flowed freely through his eyes.

"Please, we're going to be working in close contact for the next few months, and you already know me. It's Blaise," he shot her a winning smile. "I anticipated your reaction, it comes as no surprise, believe me." He held his hand out and she met it, still blushing.

"Now, Ms. Granger," Hermione cut in, stating that if she called him Blaise, he simply must call her Hermione. Blaise smiled at her. "Hermione, then. I was only vaguely informed of our meeting today. I am aware that you have been…rather persistent on this case. My superiors failed to inform me of exactly which inmate we are trying to free." The attractive Italian ended his statement with a questioning tone and a meaningful raise of his eyebrows.

"Draco Malfoy," her blunt tone made even Hermione pause, "You are, er- were acquainted with him, I believe." She bit her lip and cast her eyes down at her hands, but reminded herself not to show weakness and looked back into his hazel eyes.

He blinked. Inhaled. He twice more before, "what?"

Hermione giggled slightly, and blushed again, running a hand through her smooth curls, mussing them slightly. "We are getting Draco Malfoy out Azkaban. He's an innocent man."

Blaise seemed speechless, but did his best not to gape like a fish. "Draco Malfoy?" He repeated. Hermione nodded. Either he would yell at her or thank her. She silently prayed for the latter.

"I knew him in sixth and seventh year, but I never really liked him much. He was a cocky git, and suffered some kind of mental disorder through sixth year." Hermione nodded; Draco had dived into mass-panic mode and traumatic depression.

"I never got along with the bloke, we were too similar. But after he jumped off the deep end, I wanted nothing to do with him."

"I see. I'm close with his mother and she's told me everything she knows of his involvement with Voldemort." Hermione began, and Blaise quickly opened his pen and took notes as Hermione talked through the information.

When Hermione had finished, Blaise had four pages of information and looked intrigued. "This was in no way in his control," he said, voice full of confusion.

"That's what I'm saying. With the information, it's obvious that he didn't have any desire to become a Death Eater. He only did what he did because he was forced to."

Blaise nodded enthusiastically. "This case will be the easiest yet."

"Blaise, wait. A lot of people have bad blood over Draco. Including my own friends. I think it would be wise to talk up his reputation, and try to get as many people as we can to offer defense." Hermione bit her lip, and Blaise watched intently.

Blaise Zabini was difficult man to please to say the least. Despite what he had said to Pansy Parkinson about not being attracted to Ginny Weasley because she was "a filthy blood traitor" in his sixth year, he was not racist against muggle borns or blood traitors. He just did not find most of them to be attractive.

However, one particular muggle-born had caught his eye all the way back in third year, when he was headed down to the Great Lake for a bit of light reading. He had observed a standoff between The Golden Trio and Draco's little posse. The idiotic younger Malfoy had been making jokes about some kind of creature in the Care of Magical Creatures class. Being the compassionate creature Hermione Granger was, she had her wand to his throat in less than a second and Blaise relished the memory of Draco's fear stricken face. Yes, that was the moment he decided her out of control fluff of curly hair was gorgeous. His opinion had strengthened seconds later when she feigned letting him go, only to turn right back and catch him with a right hook.

Blaise hadn't dropped his attraction to her, not once in the past five years. He hadn't told anyone. Not that he really had anyone to tell- he was a bit of a loner, you see.

Blaise could only thank the stars that someone he was lucky enough to have her sitting in his office. No matter the circumstances.

When Blaise pulled himself out of his thoughts, Hermione was still in the same position. Biting her bottom lip and gazing out the window; thinking, he knew. She always bit her lip when she was thinking deeply.

The Italian wizard glanced at his watch and was astounded to find that they had been in his office for just over three hours.

"Hermione," immediately her head whipped his way, eyes alert. She reminded him of a feline in that perspective, how quickly she came to attention. "It's getting late, quarter past eight already! Would you mind accompanying me to a little dinner?" Blaise flashed a smile and Hermione's heart leapt in her chest.

Now just what was that! Hermione shook her head inwardly and beamed back at Blaise. She had nothing very pressing to do, what could a little dinner hurt?

"Of course."

"Perfect, I'll give you an hour to get prepared, pick you up at quarter after nine, yes?" Blaise stood, and walked around his desk. Hermione nodded and held out her hand.

Blaise, feeling rather cheeky now that she accepted his offer, grabbed her soft, small hand and pulled her into a strong hug. He felt her shock and smiled as he pulled away. "One hour," and he disappirated with a turn of his heal.

* * *

**January 29. Friday. **

**9:08 P.M. **

**Number 7 Ingle Drive, London, England. Hermione Granger's Household.**

Blaise walked crisply to his apparition point just beyond his manner's gate. He was trying not to let his mind wander over the fact that the woman of his dreams had accepted his date. If he did, he feared he would be in danger of giggling. Blaise had giggled a few times in his life, and let the bloke tell you, it was simply not acceptable for a man with such prowess to do so.

Once he left the protective wards surrounding his home, he glanced around for any muggles. They seemed to gravitate towards his impresive estate, and he reminded himself once again -curse his scattered mind- to put up the avoidance wards. He was pleasantly surprised to find that no non-magical folk lingered and turned fast on his heal before he jinxed himself.

The house he arrived at was what he would expect, small yet large, comfy and painfully normal. It blended in with the other houses on the drive well. Perfect location for a war hero trying to fall back into the norm.

After evaluating and not approving or rejecting the location, he marched forward and knocked clearly three times.

Hermione was currently rushing down her stairs, clutching her lace-up heels in her hand. She flung the door open and hurried him inside. "Sorry, sorry, but when I came home Harry and Ginny were here. Ginny's pregnant, you see, and they just found out and stopped by, and it took a while and Ginny helped me pick out a dress and flat ironed my hair and, and-" Hermione stopped and blushed when she realized she'd been ranting. "Sorry."

Blaise was watching her with amused eyes, "no harm done, Hermione. I'm rather early, aren't I?" He raised a brow. Hermione blushed but didn't answer.

She suggested they go to the sitting room while she laced up her heels. She was biting her lip again.

"Stop thinking so much, Hermione, I'm not upset." Blaise said, following her into the comfortable room. The couch looked overstuffed and like an absolute dream to sleep on.

Hermione blushed further and muttered something. "What was that, Hermione?"

"Nothing," she quipped and plopped onto the couch ungracefully. Blaise took time to admire her dress -which was riding up rather nicely- and her magnificent legs. Smooth and lightly tanned, as if she'd spent a lot of time lying in the sun.

Minutes later she stood, now almost eye level with the tall Slytherin. He smiled down at her in a way that he knew was suggestive to her. If she wasn't going to decline his advances, he'd just keep going.

"Shall we?" He said, offering his arm. She bashfully connected their arms together and Blaise led the way out, Hermione grabbing a purse that matched her shoes.

Once outside of her hedges, Blaise said, "three, two, one," and turned.

Hermione was utterly flabbergasted to land inside of a simply beautiful high-roofed restaurant. She managed to not let her mouth hang open. Blaise smiled at her round eyes and lost expression.

His smile faded slowly, though, when he caught sight of another person just arriving at the restaurant.

"Well, Blaise. Isn't this surprising?" Pansy Parkinson purred.


	3. Chapter 3

**The War Without an End.  
**

**Chapter Three.  
**

**Warning: Adult language and sexual implications.  
**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, I am not claiming to own Harry Potter. I am borrowing the characters and bending them to my will as a FanFiction writer.  
**

* * *

**January 29. Friday.**

**9:39 P.M. **

**Dominique's Restaurant. Wizarding London. **

Blaise narrowed his eyes. Of all the things that could have gone wrong tonight, Pansy had to show up.

"Pansy Parkinson, a pleasure," Blaise said, catching her hand and bringing it to his lips, as custom for the gentleman. Hermione shifted uncomfortably. She would; she was not raised as a pure-blood, and therefore did not have the old ideals that they did.

"And what is this, Blaise? Hermione Granger, is that you?" Her tone was malicious, but only to her ears. Too sweet for their past.

"Indeed, it is, Parkinson." Hermione could be an adult, so she managed to keep any emotion from her voice.

"Well I hardly even recognized you," Pansy taunted, "without that bush attached to your scalp."

Blaise was ever so thankful that their host had arrived, "I have a reservation for two," Blaise said smoothly, "under the name Zabini."

The host checked his notebook and nodded, gesturing the two to follow him. Pansy glowered at Hermione once more before turning to her own host.

"I take it she learned nothing from the war," Hermione mumbled bitterly.

"Don't make first impressions on her, Hermione. She was caught out of her element and didn't know what was going on." Blaise defended his old friend. It was true, anyway. Pansy had not been a part of the war, didn't support either side. However, rogue Death Eaters had killed her parents and her older sister afterwards and Pansy found herself hating the losing side, even though it had already lost.

"Apparently Slytherin's are hostile when faced with the unknown…" Hermione muttered to herself, but Blaise heard her perfectly clear.

"Never forget that," he said quietly.

* * *

**January 30. Saturday.**

**4:56 A.M. **

**Number 7, Ingle Drive, London, England. Hermione Granger's Household. **

Blaise helped a tipsy Hermione up to her doorstep, laughing at her pitiful attempts at walking.

After they had eaten, Hermione suggested they "blow this stuffy joint and go do something fun." So of course, they ended up wandering around London all night, getting drunk, and sight-seeing.

They had both loosened up enough over the night to indulge each other in juicy gossip and things they normally wouldn't tell another person, but were not so far intoxicated that they would forget any of this tomorrow.

Hermione stopped at her doorstep and glanced up at him through thick lashes and cloudy eyes, "is this where I invite you in for a coffee?" Her voice was unsurprisingly seductive, Blaise had found that Hermione was quite the mischievous drunk.

"Afraid not, dove. I have a feeling it wouldn't be for the best." Ever the wise and sturdy wall of stubborn he was. Although, he wouldn't mind coming in for a while, and what could it harm anyway? No, Blaise stopped himself, no, don't think like that. She doesn't think of you that way.

Oh sure, that's why she accepted my date. Blaise argued with himself. If she wasn't interested she would have blubbered an excuse and went home. He inwardly scoffed, not likely. She would have accepted the date either way, she was too kind to do anything but.

"What're you thinking about?" Hermione purred, running a finger down his jaw slowly, unknowingly pushing him to a proverbial edge.

Blaise's eyes flickered as he tried to think of something, but really nothing was coming. Oh hell, what's it matter anymore! "If you like me enough to let me do this," he whispered quietly and she quirked a brow only seconds before he leaned in and pushed his lips against her own.

Hermione was really was not expecting that. She blamed the alcohol running through both of their systems for the rash decision. She also blamed the alcohol for her wandering hands sliding up and down his chest, and for the less than appropriate noises coming from her throat, _and _for the fact that she didn't care when he shoved her against her door and opened her mouth with his tongue alone, their tongues intertwining.

Hermione clawed his back as he rolled his thin hips against her own, growling unnaturally. Blaise found that incredibly arousing and thus did it again, causing the same reaction.

"If you're not coming in," Hermione panted, biting his lip, "then you should stop teasing me." Her mind was a complete blank, for once. The only thing she could think about was how good she felt, and how much better she could feel in less than ten minutes.

Blaise growled, kissing her neck softly, and said, "I think I changed my mind."

They both paused for a few seconds to consider this. Then Hermione whipped out her wand and unlocked her door, too hurried to look for keys, and pulled them through, and up to her room in a blur.

"You're sure?" Hermione murmured as Blaise leant over her on her bed, kissing her thoroughly.

"Positive," he whispered, before attacking her lips again.

* * *

**January 30. Saturday.**

**2:14 P.M.**

**Number 7, Ingle Drive, London, England. Hermione Granger's Household. **

Hermione muttered as Crookshanks brushed against her arm softly, most likely stretching. Hermione couldn't believe how exhausted she felt. Yet satisfied. She felt like she got hit with a freight train of happiness.

Crookshanks brushed her again, on the cheek. Funny, he didn't feel very furry. Hermione tensed. That was a hand. Crookshanks didn't have hands.

But Blaise Zabini did.

Hermione's eyes flashed open and she nearly screamed when she saw two very close hazel eyes staring back at her. She did, however, fly back in her bed until she actually fell over the side and onto the ground. She popped up quickly, reaching for her wand before remembering the events of the previous day, and into the morning. She paused. Was there a draft or did she feel particularly…bare?

Hermione risked a glance down before stopping her foot in frustration. She was, totally and completely, naked in front of her colleague whom she had slept with the night before.

"I've never gotten that reaction after a night of passionate se-"

"NO!" Hermione roared, scaring even herself a bit. Crookshanks flew from under the bed and out of the room in fear. "I- I…last night, I didn't really…?" Hermione stuttered looking around at the clothes strewn on the floor. Her bra hanging from her wardrobe.

"Ah, but you did." Blaise chuckled, "you don't remember? Shall we gauge your memory?" Blaise was quite the cocky git this morning. Hermione wasn't going to lie and say it didn't affect her.

"No, that's perfectly alright." Hermione quipped, finally locating her bathrobe and slipping the silky material over her body. Blaise looked put out.

He cuddled further into her duvet and smiled up at her in the most adorable, pouty way. "I'm not moving." He proclaimed. Hermione rolled her eyes.

"I'm hungry," Hermione said, "but if you're not, that's perfectly alright."

Blaise shot up immediately, and Hermione tried not to stare as he pulled his boxers on. Apparently that's all he thought was needed. She couldn't bring herself to complain.

Blaise tried not to beam while he sat in Hermione's warm and comfortable kitchen that was hung with bright flowers and earthy colored walls, while she cooked up bacon, eggs, and chocolate chip pancakes with strawberries. Two years ago if someone told him he would be sitting in his favorite Gryffindor's kitchen, watching her walk about her cozy kitchen, nearly naked from the night before, lecturing him on the virtues of cats, while making him a delicious breakfast…well it probably would have been one of those times he giggled, and tossed his non-existent hair back, and tittered with excitement. No one knew about those times, of course. No one.

"And that is why I will never entrust my _obviously _male cat to a batty old woman who insists he's in labor." Hermione concluded her tale, looking quite miffed about it, too.

Blaise didn't fight the beam now. He had his girl and he intended to keep her.

* * *

**A/N: As you can tell, I do ship Blaise and Hermione, however this story is not about them. Well for now it is, but it's only temporary and won't last very long at all. Once Draco comes into the picture, everything will fall oh so nicely into place.**  
** Also, I meant to thank everyone for reading and everything.  
**


End file.
